I've probably whined previously about retailers pricing everything with 99 cents at the end. Obviously it works, or they wouldn't keep doing it. The eye sees $2.99 and thinks $2 instead of three; I have an Economics degree and it gets me nearly every time. But though this annoys me, I'm not so much complaining as criticizing it as a business strategy. Because when I get to the checkout counter and find out that my purchase that I was expecting to be $7 turns out to be $9, I'm going to be pretty sorely annoyed. This happened yesterday at Whole Foods; they are possibly world champions of the "and 99 cents" strategy.
It occurs to me that this is where the Whole Paycheck nickname came from; when every customer comes out of the store spending more than they thought they were spending, your store is going to get a (well-deserved, in this case) reputation for having very high prices. I can't help but think that Whole Foods customers would probably still buy most items if the price read $3 instead of $2.99. And maybe if we could thus keep a more accurate running count of what we're spending, we'd be less annoyed when we came out. When your business ethics compare unfavorably to Dollar General, perhaps a rethink is in order. Don't ya think?
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Bag lettuce
Edit: This was yesterday's (i.e., Monday's); I published it, but it reverted to draft for reasons of its own. Go figure.
One of the lesser problems with being a singleton is trying to buy lettuce. Head lettuce is great for a few days, but then you have almost an entire head of lettuce that looks rusty and tastes terrible. Bag lettuce is usually excellent, but it's bagged to be used for a salad or possibly two. What I use it for is a bed of lettuce for my green bean frittata at breakfast-time; even using a pile of lettuce, it takes me about a week to use up a bag. These bags of lettuce nearly always say that they're triple-washed, and that's neat. I just wish that they were triple-dried as well. I always wind up with nasty, rotten lettuce before I get to the bottom of the bag.
Until now. I finally found a winner, but it's so pretentious sounding that I'm reluctant to mention it. Trader Joe's wild arugula actually lasts to the bottom of the bag. I don't know if arugula is just hardier or whether they indeed triple-dry it. Nor am I a brilliant endorser, because obviously very few people use lettuce like I do, so not very many need it to be this hardy. For all the claims on the package, I'm not noticing any distinct spiciness; it just seems like lettuce to me. Still, if you like me are having difficulty finding lettuce that lasts as long as you like, I can give a qualified endorsement to TJ's wild arugula. Making my breakfast more pretentious since 2014!
One of the lesser problems with being a singleton is trying to buy lettuce. Head lettuce is great for a few days, but then you have almost an entire head of lettuce that looks rusty and tastes terrible. Bag lettuce is usually excellent, but it's bagged to be used for a salad or possibly two. What I use it for is a bed of lettuce for my green bean frittata at breakfast-time; even using a pile of lettuce, it takes me about a week to use up a bag. These bags of lettuce nearly always say that they're triple-washed, and that's neat. I just wish that they were triple-dried as well. I always wind up with nasty, rotten lettuce before I get to the bottom of the bag.
Until now. I finally found a winner, but it's so pretentious sounding that I'm reluctant to mention it. Trader Joe's wild arugula actually lasts to the bottom of the bag. I don't know if arugula is just hardier or whether they indeed triple-dry it. Nor am I a brilliant endorser, because obviously very few people use lettuce like I do, so not very many need it to be this hardy. For all the claims on the package, I'm not noticing any distinct spiciness; it just seems like lettuce to me. Still, if you like me are having difficulty finding lettuce that lasts as long as you like, I can give a qualified endorsement to TJ's wild arugula. Making my breakfast more pretentious since 2014!
Dates with assorted nuts
I love my coconut-cocoa butter cookies, I do. But I still felt that they needed something more. I had previously thought that that something was raisins, the black-colored ones made from red grapes. But I was never happy with the result when I put them in; too grapy I guess.
So I thought I'd try golden raisins. These (I think I remember) are the secret ingredient in the Archway oatmeal cookies that I used to live on during a previous dietary regime (the omnivorous one). I think they're sweeter than the dark ones, but I checked the box and the sugar content is the same.
But here's another thing that was on the box: they use preservatives. This is something I've raved about before: food items that are especially prepared such that they shouldn't need preservatives, whether it's by drying or freezing or canning but somehow have them anyway. The dark raisins didn't have preservatives. I can only guess that the golden raisins sell slower so it's thought to be necessary to add preservatives to keep them shelf-stable. But perhaps I'm romancing; I should have thought to compare the expiration dates.
Regardless, I decided that I would be happier without golden raisins, especially since you can only buy them in a largish box. Publix also had dried dates. The chopped ones had added dextrose; the pitted ones (presumably the chopped ones are also pitted, but I'm just reporting how they were labeled) didn't. As the sugar content was the same again, it must have been very little dextrose, but I went with the pitted anyway. I'm not sure if they improve the cookies or not, but I'm quite sure they don't make them worse. As it happens, I ran out of pecans and had to fill out the cup with walnuts. This allows me to call the cookies Dates with Assorted Nuts, which is the kind of stuff I live for.
So I thought I'd try golden raisins. These (I think I remember) are the secret ingredient in the Archway oatmeal cookies that I used to live on during a previous dietary regime (the omnivorous one). I think they're sweeter than the dark ones, but I checked the box and the sugar content is the same.
But here's another thing that was on the box: they use preservatives. This is something I've raved about before: food items that are especially prepared such that they shouldn't need preservatives, whether it's by drying or freezing or canning but somehow have them anyway. The dark raisins didn't have preservatives. I can only guess that the golden raisins sell slower so it's thought to be necessary to add preservatives to keep them shelf-stable. But perhaps I'm romancing; I should have thought to compare the expiration dates.
Regardless, I decided that I would be happier without golden raisins, especially since you can only buy them in a largish box. Publix also had dried dates. The chopped ones had added dextrose; the pitted ones (presumably the chopped ones are also pitted, but I'm just reporting how they were labeled) didn't. As the sugar content was the same again, it must have been very little dextrose, but I went with the pitted anyway. I'm not sure if they improve the cookies or not, but I'm quite sure they don't make them worse. As it happens, I ran out of pecans and had to fill out the cup with walnuts. This allows me to call the cookies Dates with Assorted Nuts, which is the kind of stuff I live for.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Gender bender
Lately I've been dreaming I'm female. The dreams aren't in any way sexual or even physical; nor did it make a difference that I'm female. Nor is it exactly me; more a case of dreaming in first person where the first person happens to be female. Damned confusing, isn't it? Well the details won't help because I barely remember any. The first time, I had just been fired from my job, apparently for trying to write a novel, and was up in arms to get only $2100 in severance. The second time, now here's a surprise, I was traveling somewhere. I can't remember details. It's just odd that this should happen two nights in a row. It could be another result of playing old-time radio shows in my sleep, of course.
The traveling dream that I liked better was the one where I was flying from Philadelphia to Philadelphia. Not on a helicopter, but in a plane, presumably a jet. It does occur to me though that we are reaching a point where soon rich people will start doing this, i.e., having multiple personal airports in one city, even though helicopters and heliports are more convenient and economical (or for that matter limos and drivers) just because they can. But I doubt my subconscious mind was trying to make a political point, and I still think it was pretty cool.
The traveling dream that I liked better was the one where I was flying from Philadelphia to Philadelphia. Not on a helicopter, but in a plane, presumably a jet. It does occur to me though that we are reaching a point where soon rich people will start doing this, i.e., having multiple personal airports in one city, even though helicopters and heliports are more convenient and economical (or for that matter limos and drivers) just because they can. But I doubt my subconscious mind was trying to make a political point, and I still think it was pretty cool.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
"Are you mad?!"
After all my braggage, I too showed a certain inability to control my temper at dialysisville today. They have moved Dad's chair time earlier as of this past Thursday, but so far have been unable to provide an actual chair (or in his case, bed) at this time. In fact, both times he wound up going in later than his previous time. So Margaret has to get up earlier to get him breakfast, I schlep him in, and then we sit and wait.
When I finally asked when he would be allowed back, I was told that they know he's here and it would be soon. Then a nurse (or technician; I'm never sure about titles there) whom I'd talked to Thursday came out. She had told me then that they knew about his new time and that they would surely try harder to get him in earlier today. So today, after another half-hour wait that wiped out the earlier time that THEY had insisted on, when she told me it would be another 15 minutes, I got a little annoyed. The subject line above was the result.
Anyway, they got him in within 5 or 10 minutes, and I thanked her for her help. And I wasn't jumping up and down, using profanity or otherwise abusive. It was more a British comedy kind of "Are you mad?" then a serious imputation of insanity. I hope I didn't hurt Dad's situation any. I am sincerely sympathetic with the staff. I think they have an administrator who believes in magic. "I say he has a new chair time and POOF! He has a new chair time." I suspect she might need to take a more hands-on approach.
So an annoying morning, but hopefully no harm done. If I can find some more or less diplomatic way to make common cause with the staff against their administration, I'll try.
When I finally asked when he would be allowed back, I was told that they know he's here and it would be soon. Then a nurse (or technician; I'm never sure about titles there) whom I'd talked to Thursday came out. She had told me then that they knew about his new time and that they would surely try harder to get him in earlier today. So today, after another half-hour wait that wiped out the earlier time that THEY had insisted on, when she told me it would be another 15 minutes, I got a little annoyed. The subject line above was the result.
Anyway, they got him in within 5 or 10 minutes, and I thanked her for her help. And I wasn't jumping up and down, using profanity or otherwise abusive. It was more a British comedy kind of "Are you mad?" then a serious imputation of insanity. I hope I didn't hurt Dad's situation any. I am sincerely sympathetic with the staff. I think they have an administrator who believes in magic. "I say he has a new chair time and POOF! He has a new chair time." I suspect she might need to take a more hands-on approach.
So an annoying morning, but hopefully no harm done. If I can find some more or less diplomatic way to make common cause with the staff against their administration, I'll try.
Friday, April 25, 2014
Dashiell Hammett stuff
Memory is dropping in and out on me a bit lately. The other week, something caused me to wonder if any previously unpublished Dashiell Hammett stories had come out since I had last checked. Unrepublished? Unbooked? As this was only a week or two ago, I'm almost embarrassed that I can't remember what put the question in my mind, but regardless I checked the library and found what I thought were books I hadn't seen before. They were "Lost Stories," "Nightmare Town" and "The Return of the Thin Man."
"Lost Stories" was a little short on Hammett, as the stories were generally very, very short. The book could be fairly described as padded, but that isn't to say that it wasn't entertaining. "Nightmare Town" came out at the end of the last millennium; apparently I read it then, because I could just barely remember some elements of some of the stories. This was what inspired me to post on Facebook that aging isn't so bad; you get to read stuff for the first time over and over again! This is true, but another instance where I'm starting to worry a little about my formerly nearly infallible memory.
An odd thing about "Nightmare Town" is that in the introduction, written in 1999, a writer remarked on something happening early in "this century." It seems like in 1999, one would have a pretty good notion that most of his readers would be reading him in the next century and would therefore say "early in the twentieth century." At least he didn't say "turn-of-the-century," though it wasn't that early.
"Return of the Thin Man" is Hammett's story treatments for two Thin Man movie sequels. In the book, the editors point out that the second sequel is lifted pretty completely from Hammett's Continental Op story "The Farewell Murder." Even though I haven't read that recently, I've read it often and would probably have recognized the plot and characters without the tipoff. Anyway, it would have made me crazy, knowing I'd seen it before somewhere! The first sequel lifts a lot of stuff including complete scenes from Hammett's original draft of "The Thin Man," published in, you guessed it, 1999 in "Nightmare Town." I was suddenly very glad to have reread that, because I definitely wouldn't have remembered that I had read it before and the editors for some reason didn't mention the, uh, recycling.
The original "Thin Man" draft is fun and interesting and worth the look at "Nightmare Town" for it alone. The only similarities with the actual Thin Man book are an eccentric genius named Wynant and a detective named John Guild. In the novel, Guild is a NYC police detective; here he's a private detective and the main character. Wynant has different given names, but is already thin. Hammett didn't get far enough in the draft to be able to say for sure that the ending would be similarly tricky, but Guild was very suspicious that Wynant wasn't the crazed killer he was being painted as, just as in the novel. Anyway, it's a hoot; Hammett fans who haven't read it, or who haven't read it this millennium, should definitely give it a look.
"Lost Stories" was a little short on Hammett, as the stories were generally very, very short. The book could be fairly described as padded, but that isn't to say that it wasn't entertaining. "Nightmare Town" came out at the end of the last millennium; apparently I read it then, because I could just barely remember some elements of some of the stories. This was what inspired me to post on Facebook that aging isn't so bad; you get to read stuff for the first time over and over again! This is true, but another instance where I'm starting to worry a little about my formerly nearly infallible memory.
An odd thing about "Nightmare Town" is that in the introduction, written in 1999, a writer remarked on something happening early in "this century." It seems like in 1999, one would have a pretty good notion that most of his readers would be reading him in the next century and would therefore say "early in the twentieth century." At least he didn't say "turn-of-the-century," though it wasn't that early.
"Return of the Thin Man" is Hammett's story treatments for two Thin Man movie sequels. In the book, the editors point out that the second sequel is lifted pretty completely from Hammett's Continental Op story "The Farewell Murder." Even though I haven't read that recently, I've read it often and would probably have recognized the plot and characters without the tipoff. Anyway, it would have made me crazy, knowing I'd seen it before somewhere! The first sequel lifts a lot of stuff including complete scenes from Hammett's original draft of "The Thin Man," published in, you guessed it, 1999 in "Nightmare Town." I was suddenly very glad to have reread that, because I definitely wouldn't have remembered that I had read it before and the editors for some reason didn't mention the, uh, recycling.
The original "Thin Man" draft is fun and interesting and worth the look at "Nightmare Town" for it alone. The only similarities with the actual Thin Man book are an eccentric genius named Wynant and a detective named John Guild. In the novel, Guild is a NYC police detective; here he's a private detective and the main character. Wynant has different given names, but is already thin. Hammett didn't get far enough in the draft to be able to say for sure that the ending would be similarly tricky, but Guild was very suspicious that Wynant wasn't the crazed killer he was being painted as, just as in the novel. Anyway, it's a hoot; Hammett fans who haven't read it, or who haven't read it this millennium, should definitely give it a look.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Nickel-nursing weasels
So yesterday's GI doc appointment took longer than it should, but it wasn't so bad. We had to wait more than an hour, but compared to four or five it was but a trifle. What Dad mainly wanted to talk about was a letter he'd gotten from the company administering the State Health Plan. The doctor had finally found a laxative that works for Dad. Of course it's very expensive so of course the company doesn't want to pay for it. So Dad asked the doctor to write them and the doctor did. He emailed a prescription for the expensive laxative to Dad's pharmacy and we went along. Naturally, when we got to the pharmacy they said that the State Health Plan had balked and that they had sent the doctor the paperwork to get him the medicine. Point is a) that it's kind of ridiculous to hunt and search and finally find a medicine that works only to get balked by nickel-nursing weasels; and b) we were pretty quickly no longer annoyed about the wait but instead united against said n-nws. It was kind of a fun day.
In the reflection of the glass doors at the doctor's office, I thought I could see my brake lights, or rather I thought that I could see that they weren't working. I looked it up on the Internet (being John) and found that the likeliest cause of a brake light indicator going on was a blown fuse. So I went to Advance Auto Parts with the goal of getting a new fuse, but first the guy came out and looked. Brake lights work fine. Go figure. So now I follow Terry's suggestion and add brake fluid. Or check to make sure the CV joints haven't gotten up in there.
In the reflection of the glass doors at the doctor's office, I thought I could see my brake lights, or rather I thought that I could see that they weren't working. I looked it up on the Internet (being John) and found that the likeliest cause of a brake light indicator going on was a blown fuse. So I went to Advance Auto Parts with the goal of getting a new fuse, but first the guy came out and looked. Brake lights work fine. Go figure. So now I follow Terry's suggestion and add brake fluid. Or check to make sure the CV joints haven't gotten up in there.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Grumpiness insurance
I got nothing at the moment, but in less than an hour I have to take Dad to the gastroenterologist again. This is the same outfit that thinks nothing of making you wait four hours before you see the actual doctor. The last couple of times, they have been better, so hopefully this won't be so bad either. All I'm saying is that if I wait to write my blog until I actually have something to write about, that something likely would be unnecessarily whiny and unpleasant.
Also, while I was as always bewildered by my dreams, I can't actually remember them. It IS your lucky day! All I noticed after the fact was that they seemed to be spinning off from the old-time radio murder mysteries that were playing without actually being related to them. This was cool; cooler still was that they weren't scary, horrifying or murder-centered. So hey, a pleasant night. Who'd-a figured?
Also, while I was as always bewildered by my dreams, I can't actually remember them. It IS your lucky day! All I noticed after the fact was that they seemed to be spinning off from the old-time radio murder mysteries that were playing without actually being related to them. This was cool; cooler still was that they weren't scary, horrifying or murder-centered. So hey, a pleasant night. Who'd-a figured?
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Brake light light
At various times over the past few months and almost constantly over the last week, the indicator light saying that there is a problem with the brake lights on my car has been alit. I don't want to brag about how few friends I have, but I really don't have anyone to check whether in fact I have a problem with the brake lights. The fact that the light goes on and off though suggests that it's more likely some major or minor electrical problem somewhere along the line. I mean, once your brake light goes out, normally it stays out, so presumably an accurate indicator would just stay lit all the time.
Yesterday I went for an oil change. Parenthetically (See? Parentheses!), I went to the location across town from the one I usually go to. The guy at the usual location just wears me out trying to sell me overpriced work that he doesn't describe clearly or well. (This is the guy who told me the CV joint would get up in the transmission.) The guy at the other location tried to sell me a different load of work, not in any way mentioning any of the absolutely essential work that the other guy had been pushing three months ago. I can only infer that they go from the mileage and the preventative maintenance schedule. (Even paranthetically-er, I recently gave serious thought to switching to a mechanic just because the sign out front said "preventative" instead of "preventive." Pathetic, right?)
Yesterday was of course the day that the brake light light decided to stop shining, so I didn't have any cause to ask the oil change guy if the brake light was working. Even though we don't have state inspections anymore, I like to think he checked it anyway, and I certainly should have asked. If damn thing stays on much longer, I'll just get new brake light bulbs and see if that makes it go away. I'll need them eventually anyway, right?
(All paragraphs must now end with "right?")
Yesterday I went for an oil change. Parenthetically (See? Parentheses!), I went to the location across town from the one I usually go to. The guy at the usual location just wears me out trying to sell me overpriced work that he doesn't describe clearly or well. (This is the guy who told me the CV joint would get up in the transmission.) The guy at the other location tried to sell me a different load of work, not in any way mentioning any of the absolutely essential work that the other guy had been pushing three months ago. I can only infer that they go from the mileage and the preventative maintenance schedule. (Even paranthetically-er, I recently gave serious thought to switching to a mechanic just because the sign out front said "preventative" instead of "preventive." Pathetic, right?)
Yesterday was of course the day that the brake light light decided to stop shining, so I didn't have any cause to ask the oil change guy if the brake light was working. Even though we don't have state inspections anymore, I like to think he checked it anyway, and I certainly should have asked. If damn thing stays on much longer, I'll just get new brake light bulbs and see if that makes it go away. I'll need them eventually anyway, right?
(All paragraphs must now end with "right?")
Monday, April 21, 2014
But shouldn't that be Lilies for Guns?
For Easter, a local church had a Guns for Lilies exchange yesterday. It may have been more than one church; I heard on the radio that the local police had had a gun exchange this weekend. Either way, I'm not just being flippant when I ask if it would be better to call it Lilies for Guns. The other way sounds like you bring your lily and get a gun. Doesn't it? Of course, maybe that's how it works; I wasn't present for the exchange.
Whatever they call it, it sounds like a fine idea and I hope it was very successful. I mean if they were exchanging lilies for guns instead of the other way around, that is.
Whatever they call it, it sounds like a fine idea and I hope it was very successful. I mean if they were exchanging lilies for guns instead of the other way around, that is.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Winning the Boy I'm Dumb Decathlon
For years now I've been steaming my vegetables like it's a religion. I mean all the 5-odd years I've been living here, and maybe during the Alice era before that. And almost that entire time, I've been using (and using up) 11-inch nonstick skillets along with the slightly smaller lid from my big spaghetti pot. This has never worked, but yet I keep doing it. I have no idea at all why I never just used the spaghetti pot instead. It should have been only common sense; for one thing, the lid fits! I can only guess that I tried it once long ago and found it tricky to get the steamer insert out of the deeper pot. Anyway, that's the only idea that makes sense (besides the "I'm a moron" one, but I don't like that one).
Yesterday, in another Aha! moment, I tried it again. It was no problem at all; just a matter of allowing a few minutes for the steaming water to stop steaming, then draining it off so if the stuff falls out of the insert it doesn't wind up all sopping. My grasp of the completely obvious: improving all the time!
Yesterday, in another Aha! moment, I tried it again. It was no problem at all; just a matter of allowing a few minutes for the steaming water to stop steaming, then draining it off so if the stuff falls out of the insert it doesn't wind up all sopping. My grasp of the completely obvious: improving all the time!
Saturday, April 19, 2014
Woke up working on a joke
Not much of a joke, I'll admit, but I still thought it was kind of cool to wake up with an attempted witticism on my mind. No doubt I've made assaults on the same joke-mountain before, since I'm partial to aphorisms, but it is a cruel goddess. The aphorism in question is "Time and tide wait for no man." Since Newsweek went out of print last year (or so; probably it's been five years now, the years fly by so fast), there would be a fine joke in it if only there was a laundry soap brand that had gone away about the same time. But no!
About the best I can do is Duz. Speaking of time flying, it went away around 1980. So not really a joke that will make sense to a lot of people. I still like it (Time and tide wait for no man, but Newsweek and Duz are probably thinking about it) but I can't see anyone else getting much of a kick out of it.
Also also, what it laundry detergent (or dishwashing detergent) a(n) euphemism (or euphemisms) for? I eventually settled on laundry (or dish) soap, as you can see, but it seems like there ought to be something else that I just can't think of. Just soap, I guess. I seem to recall that old-time radio ads pushed Lux Flakes for laundry, dishes, face cleaning and every other use. So I guess it isn't so much a euphemism as an aid to training the consumer to buy more unnecessary things. Something else to ponder in my sleep, I guess.
About the best I can do is Duz. Speaking of time flying, it went away around 1980. So not really a joke that will make sense to a lot of people. I still like it (Time and tide wait for no man, but Newsweek and Duz are probably thinking about it) but I can't see anyone else getting much of a kick out of it.
Also also, what it laundry detergent (or dishwashing detergent) a(n) euphemism (or euphemisms) for? I eventually settled on laundry (or dish) soap, as you can see, but it seems like there ought to be something else that I just can't think of. Just soap, I guess. I seem to recall that old-time radio ads pushed Lux Flakes for laundry, dishes, face cleaning and every other use. So I guess it isn't so much a euphemism as an aid to training the consumer to buy more unnecessary things. Something else to ponder in my sleep, I guess.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Hey, a killer app!
I finally found out what smart phones are for for those of us not interested in Angry Birds. I'm more than a little embarrassed that it took this long for me to figure this out, particularly as I have over the years noted an increased need to use grocery lists. For some reason that I don't think is vanity I hardly ever use them, though, and thus wind up making a lot of unnecessary return trips to grocery stores.
And then I thought, I bet there's an app for that! Oddly, though there are many many apps for that, most of them are overloaded with bells, whistles and geejaws. I don't really need my groceries sorted into categories; I don't really need prices. So I wound up uninstalling the grocery list apps immediately and getting a plain checklist app. It's awesome! I just had to enter everything I'm ever likely to buy (which netted out to only about 70 items, much to my surprise). Then anything I need, I check the checkbox. Then I can sort by checked items, and there's my list. It's really been great. As a plus, I feel slightly less foolish about carrying my cell with me everywhere, which I do due to worry about Dad-related emergencies. As the emergencies have gotten fewer and fewer, it seems less necessary to carry the cell, but it's still a good idea. So this is an added benefit to having it with me; I never forget my grocery list. So OK, it took forever for me to think of something that should have been glaringly obvious; I got there eventually!
And then I thought, I bet there's an app for that! Oddly, though there are many many apps for that, most of them are overloaded with bells, whistles and geejaws. I don't really need my groceries sorted into categories; I don't really need prices. So I wound up uninstalling the grocery list apps immediately and getting a plain checklist app. It's awesome! I just had to enter everything I'm ever likely to buy (which netted out to only about 70 items, much to my surprise). Then anything I need, I check the checkbox. Then I can sort by checked items, and there's my list. It's really been great. As a plus, I feel slightly less foolish about carrying my cell with me everywhere, which I do due to worry about Dad-related emergencies. As the emergencies have gotten fewer and fewer, it seems less necessary to carry the cell, but it's still a good idea. So this is an added benefit to having it with me; I never forget my grocery list. So OK, it took forever for me to think of something that should have been glaringly obvious; I got there eventually!
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Griping
It's ironic, I know, to gripe about somebody griping, especially to do so in a blog devoted to three years before the griping mast. So I'm not griping about her griping; I'm griping about having to listen to it when she doesn't have the sense to realize it isn't doing her any good.
Dialysis is not any fun. It's painful and boring and uncomfortable at best. Also dialysis facilities have a lot of staffing issues, so frequently you have to wait to get your painful, your boring and your uncomfortable on. Also also, most patients have to catch rides with commercial medical transportation services. These have their own rules that are mostly insane and certainly don't have much to do with actually helping their clients.
So what I'm saying is that the lady had legitimate gripes. Her ride was late so she was late, and then she had to wait an hour or more (she was still waiting when Dad got called) while others (including as I say Dad) went ahead of her. However, sitting and saying loudly a hundred times "This is b---s---!" probably didn't help her cause, nor did grousing that she was going to get transferred to another facility. (I'm saying to myself, "Oh please oh please oh please oh please.")
The way I complain is politely, politely, politely, politely and then finally angrily when I get to that hour point where she was. But I'm rational and reasonable (well, I have reasons) and never, ever, ever cuss in any way at all. I think the difference between losers and non-losers (I certainly can't call myself a winner, but I seldom lose) is expectations. I stay up there and keep making my argument until somebody gives ground. She wanders away grumbling and continues grumbling and cussing and making herself unpopular in the waiting area. I guess what I'd say to her would be, "Lady, if you're a bigger whinybutt even than I am, maybe you want to rethink your communication strategy." (Yeah, I know, nobody would think it's possible.)
Dialysis is not any fun. It's painful and boring and uncomfortable at best. Also dialysis facilities have a lot of staffing issues, so frequently you have to wait to get your painful, your boring and your uncomfortable on. Also also, most patients have to catch rides with commercial medical transportation services. These have their own rules that are mostly insane and certainly don't have much to do with actually helping their clients.
So what I'm saying is that the lady had legitimate gripes. Her ride was late so she was late, and then she had to wait an hour or more (she was still waiting when Dad got called) while others (including as I say Dad) went ahead of her. However, sitting and saying loudly a hundred times "This is b---s---!" probably didn't help her cause, nor did grousing that she was going to get transferred to another facility. (I'm saying to myself, "Oh please oh please oh please oh please.")
The way I complain is politely, politely, politely, politely and then finally angrily when I get to that hour point where she was. But I'm rational and reasonable (well, I have reasons) and never, ever, ever cuss in any way at all. I think the difference between losers and non-losers (I certainly can't call myself a winner, but I seldom lose) is expectations. I stay up there and keep making my argument until somebody gives ground. She wanders away grumbling and continues grumbling and cussing and making herself unpopular in the waiting area. I guess what I'd say to her would be, "Lady, if you're a bigger whinybutt even than I am, maybe you want to rethink your communication strategy." (Yeah, I know, nobody would think it's possible.)
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
People suck, ya know?
As I said, Dad and Margaret are at the motel again for a week or two. As it happens, they got exactly the same room. Last time, Dad found that the bathroom sink had no plug. They asked management to fix it, but nothing happened, so I went out and got a rubber plug at a hardware store for a dollar and the problem was solved.
Surprise! Bathroom sink again has no plug. I clearly remember us leaving it behind for future guests. You would think that anybody would be able to figure out that the greatest good for the greatest number is just to leave the plug, as it's practically worthless anywhere else but very useful in that one bathroom. Then again, it's been six months or so; it would be a surprise if nobody had taken it. Not for nothing do so many motels nail down the remote controls. (This one doesn't, fortunately. Dad and Margaret would have difficulty if they did.) And it's hardly an imposition on me to have to go out and get another one. But it would have been nice if the guests in between our visits had just been thoughtful and left the stupid plug.
Of course, I'm really going to feel stupid in a minute when I find my memory lied to me and the plug was here in this apartment all along. But I don't think that will happen.
Edit: People DON'T suck! Housekeeper turned up with a plug before I made it to the hardware store. This raises the possibility that the management or the housekeeper took it away so guests wouldn't steal it and so it would be available should anybody ask for it. Regardless, the problem is solved. I'll leave the subject line unchanged; it was ironical in the first place anyway.
Surprise! Bathroom sink again has no plug. I clearly remember us leaving it behind for future guests. You would think that anybody would be able to figure out that the greatest good for the greatest number is just to leave the plug, as it's practically worthless anywhere else but very useful in that one bathroom. Then again, it's been six months or so; it would be a surprise if nobody had taken it. Not for nothing do so many motels nail down the remote controls. (This one doesn't, fortunately. Dad and Margaret would have difficulty if they did.) And it's hardly an imposition on me to have to go out and get another one. But it would have been nice if the guests in between our visits had just been thoughtful and left the stupid plug.
Of course, I'm really going to feel stupid in a minute when I find my memory lied to me and the plug was here in this apartment all along. But I don't think that will happen.
Edit: People DON'T suck! Housekeeper turned up with a plug before I made it to the hardware store. This raises the possibility that the management or the housekeeper took it away so guests wouldn't steal it and so it would be available should anybody ask for it. Regardless, the problem is solved. I'll leave the subject line unchanged; it was ironical in the first place anyway.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Little problems
There's a reason this is called Writing When the Cat Lets Me. When I sit at the keyboard, she nearly always comes and visits, knowing what a total pushover I am and that she will receive scritches. Yesterday, she suddenly had a black mark on her face by her right eye. Were she a child, I would guess that she'd been playing with a Sharpie, but I'm pretty sure this isn't in her skill set. I appreciate that this isn't going to be the first concern of any reader, but having such an in-your-face kitty means that I can't help but think about it. A lot.
Whatever damn mark is, it's as permanent as if she'd been messing with a permanent marker. I can't wash it off. I received a helpful suggestion from a Facebook friend to try peroxide, but Amelia is a wary customer. I tried a peroxided paper towel but she wouldn't let me near her. I may try again with a peroxided thumb, but I have to make sure not to get it in her eye. Worrying.
Then again, maybe it's her real color and the Wite-out finally rubbed off. Who knows?
The other little problem is the kind of thing that comes up now and again and makes me mildly crazy (or crazier, if you prefer). Pins and needles in my left foot. I don't know if I need new boots, more B12, better shoe-tying lessons, antihistamine or what. Common sense (to the extent I have any) says to try another set of shoes. If the sensation goes away, then I go get new boots. As I say, nothing major, but it is pretty chronically annoying lately.
Whatever damn mark is, it's as permanent as if she'd been messing with a permanent marker. I can't wash it off. I received a helpful suggestion from a Facebook friend to try peroxide, but Amelia is a wary customer. I tried a peroxided paper towel but she wouldn't let me near her. I may try again with a peroxided thumb, but I have to make sure not to get it in her eye. Worrying.
Then again, maybe it's her real color and the Wite-out finally rubbed off. Who knows?
The other little problem is the kind of thing that comes up now and again and makes me mildly crazy (or crazier, if you prefer). Pins and needles in my left foot. I don't know if I need new boots, more B12, better shoe-tying lessons, antihistamine or what. Common sense (to the extent I have any) says to try another set of shoes. If the sensation goes away, then I go get new boots. As I say, nothing major, but it is pretty chronically annoying lately.
Monday, April 14, 2014
When you know you're really crazy
Dad finally got to see the heart specialist today, so there's a plus. Our last two trips that way were abortive, once because the doctor canceled the appointment and Dad didn't get the message and last week because Dad got confused about what day it is. He was disappointed that the doctor didn't say anything about Dad's shortness of breath, so that's a bummer. My thought is that shortness of breath is not surprising after congestive heart failure and that he figured that Dad being a doctor would know that. But that's only my guess.
But at least we got to an actual appointment finally, so that's a plus. On the way home, I had a good route picked out when the traffic reporter on the radio said that there was an accident ahead, so I changed routes in a hurry. We got home (well, to the motel, but that's another story) in perfectly good order, and there we see how nearly crazy or how severely childish I am.
Because I really really wanted to drop Dad off and go see if there really was an accident at the intersection in question. For all that it would be some 30 minutes after the time we heard it by the time I got there. And for all that I know from experience that accidents on radio traffic reports are often cleared up by the time the report is broadcast. There was the time that I was passing through the major intersection around the corner from my house at the time an accident was reported there and couldn't see a thing. So I'm happy to report that I didn't actually go. I like to think that means I'm not really crazy; just sort of.
But at least we got to an actual appointment finally, so that's a plus. On the way home, I had a good route picked out when the traffic reporter on the radio said that there was an accident ahead, so I changed routes in a hurry. We got home (well, to the motel, but that's another story) in perfectly good order, and there we see how nearly crazy or how severely childish I am.
Because I really really wanted to drop Dad off and go see if there really was an accident at the intersection in question. For all that it would be some 30 minutes after the time we heard it by the time I got there. And for all that I know from experience that accidents on radio traffic reports are often cleared up by the time the report is broadcast. There was the time that I was passing through the major intersection around the corner from my house at the time an accident was reported there and couldn't see a thing. So I'm happy to report that I didn't actually go. I like to think that means I'm not really crazy; just sort of.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Twitterizing Facebook
The powers that be at Facebook seem to be worried at the rise of Twitter, and maybe they should be. They keep adding new features that echo the other social networking site ("Trending" stories, for instance) and retooling this and rearranging that and generally trying to stay young and hip or at least relevant.
As far as I can tell, that train has left the station. (Too nineteenth century? OK, that startup has gone bellyflop.) Stories that I have seen, and the evidence of the site itself, suggest that most of the people on there are my age or older. As I understand it, even Twitter is fairly last year at best.
The point is, maybe Facebook ought to focus on holding on to the people they have already rather than dreaming that they're going to get the teens and twenty-somethings back. There's a story going around that says that the software is set up such that the best way to get your Facebook status updates seen is to Like them yourself, every time. I don't know if this is true, but the programmers at Facebook certainly would. If it is, this needs to be changed. Common sense would say to set it up such that every time you make a status update, you also Like it, invisibly. Otherwise, the best way to work Facebook is to look like a self-centered a-hole. Not that such people are never seen on Facebook, but encouraging them is another thing. They could also add checkboxes allowing one not to Like their own status updates or to make the Like visible if you so choose.
Maybe it's a tiny thing, but it seems a much better idea than trying to Twitterize. Somebody call Zuckerberg!
As far as I can tell, that train has left the station. (Too nineteenth century? OK, that startup has gone bellyflop.) Stories that I have seen, and the evidence of the site itself, suggest that most of the people on there are my age or older. As I understand it, even Twitter is fairly last year at best.
The point is, maybe Facebook ought to focus on holding on to the people they have already rather than dreaming that they're going to get the teens and twenty-somethings back. There's a story going around that says that the software is set up such that the best way to get your Facebook status updates seen is to Like them yourself, every time. I don't know if this is true, but the programmers at Facebook certainly would. If it is, this needs to be changed. Common sense would say to set it up such that every time you make a status update, you also Like it, invisibly. Otherwise, the best way to work Facebook is to look like a self-centered a-hole. Not that such people are never seen on Facebook, but encouraging them is another thing. They could also add checkboxes allowing one not to Like their own status updates or to make the Like visible if you so choose.
Maybe it's a tiny thing, but it seems a much better idea than trying to Twitterize. Somebody call Zuckerberg!
Saturday, April 12, 2014
Further what-the-hellism
Sorry, more bewildering dreamage. Again I was listening to murder mysteries on old-time radio as I slept. Suddenly, I was dreaming a documentary about anti Vietnam War protests here. And there were black and white photographs of what was supposed to be the Columbia Hospital with Greek letter banners hung from it. In that era, there was in fact a Columbia Hospital, replaced by the creepily named Richland Memorial up the road a bit a few years later, since renamed Palmetto Richland. In the dream, the old hospital was a red-brick version of a Greek temple. In real life, it was a dump. (A red-brick one though, it's true.) There really were antiwar demonstrations on campus here but the campus and the hospital weren't particularly close to each other; there's no reason anybody would drape banners from it and of course there's no reason anybody would write their fraternity names on the banners in an antiwar protest anyway.
I dunno; I get that all dreams are weird. I do read this stuff back from time to time and pick up a lot of sameness in my weird dreams. But this was so totally left-field. Also I had actually been listening to the radio show shortly before. I'd expect some kind of murder mystery dream or anyway some relationship with current or recent reality. It just seemed extra weirdo. Ok, I'll try to shut up about dreams for a while.
I dunno; I get that all dreams are weird. I do read this stuff back from time to time and pick up a lot of sameness in my weird dreams. But this was so totally left-field. Also I had actually been listening to the radio show shortly before. I'd expect some kind of murder mystery dream or anyway some relationship with current or recent reality. It just seemed extra weirdo. Ok, I'll try to shut up about dreams for a while.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Mobile Command Unit: The Positive Difference
I believe I've blithered in a previous year about the oddity that is the City of Columbia writing "The Positive Difference" on its police cars, doubly odd since it's right under "Call 9-1-1." It being a largish city, it's not surprising that the police have a Mobile Command Unit, a specially fitted out RV. Lately it's parked in the lot of my favorite city park, which I call Canal Park for short but which is formally known as Historic Columbia Canal and Riverfront Park. I don't know what's going on. Well, most days very little is going on with it, but on some days such as today there are a gazillion taxicabs on the lot with it. Presumably something about checking inspection or business licenses or something similar. Kinda odd.
Anyway, the Mobile Command Unit also has "The Positive Difference" painted on it rather prominently. So now, along with wondering if the Columbia Police are competing with area 9-1-1 systems, now I wonder if they're competing with area mobile command units. Well it could happen!
Just for a switch, I won't blither about my dreaming. My playing of old-time radio during sleeping hours finally paid off with straight up entertainment, as I woke up for the climax of the "Suspense" episode "Sorry, Wrong Number" with Agnes Moorehead. If you haven't heard it, you should look it up. (It's on YouTube, last I checked.) Truly electrifying. Now I need a nap!
Anyway, the Mobile Command Unit also has "The Positive Difference" painted on it rather prominently. So now, along with wondering if the Columbia Police are competing with area 9-1-1 systems, now I wonder if they're competing with area mobile command units. Well it could happen!
Just for a switch, I won't blither about my dreaming. My playing of old-time radio during sleeping hours finally paid off with straight up entertainment, as I woke up for the climax of the "Suspense" episode "Sorry, Wrong Number" with Agnes Moorehead. If you haven't heard it, you should look it up. (It's on YouTube, last I checked.) Truly electrifying. Now I need a nap!
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Heck was that about? (# 1 billion)
Last night my dream woke me and I couldn't get back to sleep and it wasn't even a nightmare and I didn't particularly need to go to the bathroom. It was the usual thing where I was in my dorm at Penn except that it was my college at Canterbury except that there was a subway station in the basement except that it was a bullet train and I needed to get a pass for five rides but there were no people of any kind down there, not even driving the bullet train. There was also the usual business about needing a toilet and finding only an empty place in the bathroom where one should have been, but as I say I didn't particularly need to go in real life. Huh.
There's a significant chance that I couldn't get back to sleep because I was so bewildered that such a commonplace dream could have awakened me in the first place. Although I think it was mainly frustration because I wanted to get back to the dream and get on the dang bullet train. I don't know where it was going, but I bet it was good.
Sorry for the substancelessness. We've scrolled back to the situation that I can't post about again, so I'm probably reaching a bit to come up with other stuff to write about. Email if you're curious. I'm not sworn to silence; just forbidden to publish.
There's a significant chance that I couldn't get back to sleep because I was so bewildered that such a commonplace dream could have awakened me in the first place. Although I think it was mainly frustration because I wanted to get back to the dream and get on the dang bullet train. I don't know where it was going, but I bet it was good.
Sorry for the substancelessness. We've scrolled back to the situation that I can't post about again, so I'm probably reaching a bit to come up with other stuff to write about. Email if you're curious. I'm not sworn to silence; just forbidden to publish.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
This is not good
Those catchphrases from TV and movies will get you every time. I was at Aldi and it appeared at first that they had very few hothouse cucumbers. This usually means that the ones left are rotten or nearly so, so I said, "This is not good," but to myself, very quietly. When I got closer, I found that the cucumber supply was more than adequate and also non-rotten, so I was well pleased.
Circling around to get my avocado, I passed a woman coming from the upright refrigerator cases. I swear she was saying, "This is not good." I'm sure she couldn't have heard me and thus couldn't have been making fun of me, which I admit was my first reaction. Now I wonder if I had continued to hang around Aldi whether I would have heard a never-ending stream of "This is not good"s. I'm wild guessing that they won't go for that as a slogan: Aldi: This is not good. (For the record, she didn't seem angry or badly disappointed or anything; at a guess, I would say that she was using it ironically, as I was, more or less. So I'm not really cracking on Aldi particularly.)
Circling around to get my avocado, I passed a woman coming from the upright refrigerator cases. I swear she was saying, "This is not good." I'm sure she couldn't have heard me and thus couldn't have been making fun of me, which I admit was my first reaction. Now I wonder if I had continued to hang around Aldi whether I would have heard a never-ending stream of "This is not good"s. I'm wild guessing that they won't go for that as a slogan: Aldi: This is not good. (For the record, she didn't seem angry or badly disappointed or anything; at a guess, I would say that she was using it ironically, as I was, more or less. So I'm not really cracking on Aldi particularly.)
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
I think I may have mastered shepherd's pie
Anyway, I no longer feel like calling it vegan shepherd's pie, even though it still is. I think of it as just shepherd's pie (even if it isn't).
However, I don't feel like writing the recipe any more than I did the first time, so I'll just repost the previous blithering, except with edits. The big change is that I finally got over trying to do this with black lentils. Once, making fake meat out of them worked; since then, they always come out like black lentils. Whole Foods gives exactly the same directions on their red and black lentil packages, but there's definitely a difference. Unfortunately, I can't figure out what it is.
OK, to call this a recipe would (Edit: still) be romancing, but how I make this is roughly as follows. Cut up a large potato; throw in a large pan with turmeric, salt, pepper, EV olive oil and just enough filtered water to cover. Put on medium heat.
In a small saucepan also on medium heat, bring to boil a cup of filtered water. Wash and strain a half cup of red lentils; when water is boiling, dump lentils in, along with cloves, cumin, salt and pepper. This is a change; before I put every spice imaginable (to me at least) in at this point. However, I found that most wound up sticking to the (allegedly non-stick) pot. More anon.
While that was coming to a boil would have been a good time to put a LOT of water in a large pan. (I use filtered water here, too, but then I live somewhere where they think that they haven't purified the water unless they put ALL the chlorine in it) and put it on medium heat as well. In a steamer insert, put in kale, collards or both (or whatever green leafy floats your boat) two cut-up carrots, okra, and really whatever occurs to you. Steam 'em until you get bored. Lately, I go with okra, a small turnip, one carrot, frozen broccoli florets cut up (a nice workout for my new ceramic knife) and kale.
About now, your potatoes are probably boiling pretty joyously. Turn them down such that they keep simmering. I find that enough water to cover is too much to make mashed potatoes, so I tend to leave the lid off for long periods; it's worked well so far. Maybe eventually I'll get around to measuring lengths of time and whatnot.
Oh crap, the lentils! You turned down the lentils, right? Once you have all the spices in, turn down the lentils to medium-low (or 2 on this range) and let them go wild for a half hour. Then add 1/4 cup of organic yellow corn grits. Theoretically, you should stir constantly at the same heat for 5 minutes, but I always find the stuff is just sticking to the pot and usually bail once the grits and lentils are mixed.. This is also a good time to turn on the oven at 350 degrees.
Then is the crazy part. Put parchment paper down in a pan; shovel your lentil/grits mixture in. Flatten it a bit and put in the oven for 20 minutes. Your vegetables should be as steamed as anyone ever needs. Your potato should be mashable. Turn off the former and do the latter with a fork. I also slip in a tiny bit of crushed garlic, bought in a jar from Trader Joe's. It's much too strong, but I persevere. (Explains the tiny amount, though.)
While your lentil mess is baking, I guess, cut up a sweet onion. Coat a frying pan or skillet with EV olive oil, put frozen mushrooms of whatever quantity you choose and the onion in the pan which you have already put on medium heat, right? Once you hear cracking and popping, however, turn it all the way to low, cover, and let sautee or simmer for ten minutes.
These days, I remove the onions and mushrooms with a slotted spatula to the pan of baking, and the steamed vegetables, too. When your lentil mess comes out of the oven, slash it up into small chunks (size does not matter, just this once, turn your frying pan up to medium and dump the stuff into the onion and mushroom juice. Cook on one side for four minutes and on the other for three. Meanwhile, jump the oven up to 400 degrees.
Much to my surprise, I got all this stuff into a 7 X 11 baking pan. I mix all the non mashed potatoes ingredients up. I put ginger, allspice, nutmeg, Crystal hot sauce, Tabasco sauce and Pickapeppa sauce as a middle layer of flavor. Then I put your mashed potatoes on top. Bake for 15 minutes and voila: shepherd's pie that can be eaten by a vegan. I live on this stuff!
However, I don't feel like writing the recipe any more than I did the first time, so I'll just repost the previous blithering, except with edits. The big change is that I finally got over trying to do this with black lentils. Once, making fake meat out of them worked; since then, they always come out like black lentils. Whole Foods gives exactly the same directions on their red and black lentil packages, but there's definitely a difference. Unfortunately, I can't figure out what it is.
OK, to call this a recipe would (Edit: still) be romancing, but how I make this is roughly as follows. Cut up a large potato; throw in a large pan with turmeric, salt, pepper, EV olive oil and just enough filtered water to cover. Put on medium heat.
In a small saucepan also on medium heat, bring to boil a cup of filtered water. Wash and strain a half cup of red lentils; when water is boiling, dump lentils in, along with cloves, cumin, salt and pepper. This is a change; before I put every spice imaginable (to me at least) in at this point. However, I found that most wound up sticking to the (allegedly non-stick) pot. More anon.
While that was coming to a boil would have been a good time to put a LOT of water in a large pan. (I use filtered water here, too, but then I live somewhere where they think that they haven't purified the water unless they put ALL the chlorine in it) and put it on medium heat as well. In a steamer insert, put in kale, collards or both (or whatever green leafy floats your boat) two cut-up carrots, okra, and really whatever occurs to you. Steam 'em until you get bored. Lately, I go with okra, a small turnip, one carrot, frozen broccoli florets cut up (a nice workout for my new ceramic knife) and kale.
About now, your potatoes are probably boiling pretty joyously. Turn them down such that they keep simmering. I find that enough water to cover is too much to make mashed potatoes, so I tend to leave the lid off for long periods; it's worked well so far. Maybe eventually I'll get around to measuring lengths of time and whatnot.
Oh crap, the lentils! You turned down the lentils, right? Once you have all the spices in, turn down the lentils to medium-low (or 2 on this range) and let them go wild for a half hour. Then add 1/4 cup of organic yellow corn grits. Theoretically, you should stir constantly at the same heat for 5 minutes, but I always find the stuff is just sticking to the pot and usually bail once the grits and lentils are mixed.. This is also a good time to turn on the oven at 350 degrees.
Then is the crazy part. Put parchment paper down in a pan; shovel your lentil/grits mixture in. Flatten it a bit and put in the oven for 20 minutes. Your vegetables should be as steamed as anyone ever needs. Your potato should be mashable. Turn off the former and do the latter with a fork. I also slip in a tiny bit of crushed garlic, bought in a jar from Trader Joe's. It's much too strong, but I persevere. (Explains the tiny amount, though.)
While your lentil mess is baking, I guess, cut up a sweet onion. Coat a frying pan or skillet with EV olive oil, put frozen mushrooms of whatever quantity you choose and the onion in the pan which you have already put on medium heat, right? Once you hear cracking and popping, however, turn it all the way to low, cover, and let sautee or simmer for ten minutes.
These days, I remove the onions and mushrooms with a slotted spatula to the pan of baking, and the steamed vegetables, too. When your lentil mess comes out of the oven, slash it up into small chunks (size does not matter, just this once, turn your frying pan up to medium and dump the stuff into the onion and mushroom juice. Cook on one side for four minutes and on the other for three. Meanwhile, jump the oven up to 400 degrees.
Much to my surprise, I got all this stuff into a 7 X 11 baking pan. I mix all the non mashed potatoes ingredients up. I put ginger, allspice, nutmeg, Crystal hot sauce, Tabasco sauce and Pickapeppa sauce as a middle layer of flavor. Then I put your mashed potatoes on top. Bake for 15 minutes and voila: shepherd's pie that can be eaten by a vegan. I live on this stuff!
Monday, April 7, 2014
"It isn't the 14th?"
Efforts to get Dad to his heart specialist continue unavailing, and efforts to get him to double-check to make sure he actually has an appointment do, too. You may recall that last time around, it turned out that the doctor's office had called and canceled the appointment, but since robots are used for this job, one or another nonagenarian failed to hear or understand what was said.
This time, Dad told me he had an appointment today for 3:30. I should have had the sense to check before we left his house, but mine is a trusting soul. When we got there, it turned out that the appointment was for 3, and that it was for the 14th. When I mentioned this to Dad, he said, "It isn't the 14th?" Since his congestive heart failure at the start of the year, he has been recording his weight faithfully after every dialysis session on a calendar the heart doctor gave him. Unfortunately, he lost track of days at some point, so he was up to the 14th today.
None of this would have been much of a problem except that the weather is awful today, and of course any trip is pretty hard on him, particularly an unnecessary one. Like I said last time, it's no hardship on me, but just on himself.
It is worrying, though, that someone usually so completely on the ball could be so wrong. But it's not like the end of the world.
This time, Dad told me he had an appointment today for 3:30. I should have had the sense to check before we left his house, but mine is a trusting soul. When we got there, it turned out that the appointment was for 3, and that it was for the 14th. When I mentioned this to Dad, he said, "It isn't the 14th?" Since his congestive heart failure at the start of the year, he has been recording his weight faithfully after every dialysis session on a calendar the heart doctor gave him. Unfortunately, he lost track of days at some point, so he was up to the 14th today.
None of this would have been much of a problem except that the weather is awful today, and of course any trip is pretty hard on him, particularly an unnecessary one. Like I said last time, it's no hardship on me, but just on himself.
It is worrying, though, that someone usually so completely on the ball could be so wrong. But it's not like the end of the world.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Spoiler alert
OK, another gratuitous review, or at least kvetching about, an old computer game. This one is less than 10 years old, though, so slightly more likely to get played than the other one. Or maybe not-- it required a massive patch and also an updated driver (a small one, and for its copy protection, but still).
It's a little love from Germany called Secret Files: Tunguska. This being me we're talking about, no one will be surprised that it's another point-and-click adventure. By and large, it's pretty fun, although a good many of the puzzles are just ridiculous. Fortunately, I at least found them to be the funny kind of ridiculous, although they may not have been meant to be. And the voice actors were probably not native English speakers, since they kept stressing the wrong words in sentences. But I tended to get a kick out of that, too.
My objection is at once trivial and gigantic. It's trivial because, well, it is; it's gigantic because bad writing makes me crazy. Our bad guy is a cell phone baron, well on his way to setting up a world monopoly. Named Massimo something, he's introduced when our heroine Nina (who makes Lara Croft look homely) sees a poster for his company and mentions that she gets their mailers all the time. In our climactic moment, Nina hurls her cell phone at the bad guy, more or less, and then all hell breaks loose, there's a big boffola ending (not being sarcastic this time) and the good guys win, thank goodness.
However, why not have her see the poster, say, "Hey, that's my cell phone company; they're pretty much taking over the world!" which also works as foreshadowing, and at the big climax, she can say, "Hey Massimo! I'm returning my phone!" I mean, have these people even seen action movies? (Maybe not; they're German.) Well I thought it would be a big improvement. Or at least some emotional resolution. Then again, these are people who had the heroine stealing from an unconscious torture victim and had another character fantasize about having sex with her frozen corpse. So maybe they've been watching a whole different type of movie.
It's a little love from Germany called Secret Files: Tunguska. This being me we're talking about, no one will be surprised that it's another point-and-click adventure. By and large, it's pretty fun, although a good many of the puzzles are just ridiculous. Fortunately, I at least found them to be the funny kind of ridiculous, although they may not have been meant to be. And the voice actors were probably not native English speakers, since they kept stressing the wrong words in sentences. But I tended to get a kick out of that, too.
My objection is at once trivial and gigantic. It's trivial because, well, it is; it's gigantic because bad writing makes me crazy. Our bad guy is a cell phone baron, well on his way to setting up a world monopoly. Named Massimo something, he's introduced when our heroine Nina (who makes Lara Croft look homely) sees a poster for his company and mentions that she gets their mailers all the time. In our climactic moment, Nina hurls her cell phone at the bad guy, more or less, and then all hell breaks loose, there's a big boffola ending (not being sarcastic this time) and the good guys win, thank goodness.
However, why not have her see the poster, say, "Hey, that's my cell phone company; they're pretty much taking over the world!" which also works as foreshadowing, and at the big climax, she can say, "Hey Massimo! I'm returning my phone!" I mean, have these people even seen action movies? (Maybe not; they're German.) Well I thought it would be a big improvement. Or at least some emotional resolution. Then again, these are people who had the heroine stealing from an unconscious torture victim and had another character fantasize about having sex with her frozen corpse. So maybe they've been watching a whole different type of movie.
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Otarre Pointe
Earlier, I was raving about a local real estate development, centered (from my point of view) on a hiking trail. The hiking trail is variously described as Timmerman Trail, the 12,000 Year Park, or the completion of the Cayce Riverwalk. The development, built and owned by the local power company, is called (embarrassingly) Otarre Pointe.
Now I know that the gratuitous silent E has had a grand tradition of making real estate developers and agents look stupid, ignorant, or both for many decades now. And I suppose I could live with it if there were an actual geographical feature called Otarre Point. Or, you know, particularly many French people around here.
The tipoff on the name, however, came from a street sign in the development for a street to be built called Clovis Pointe. And indeed, it turns out that there is a Native American arrowhead or spear point called the Otarre (or Otarrie) point, which is indeed found in the Southeast. Now you're getting into new horizons of stupid. I guess they wanted to add the E to differentiate between the archaeological artifacts and the street/development names. I guess you could make the argument that calling it Otarre Pointe makes people ask what that is, and helps publicize the future park, which is after all supposed to be about archaeology and Native history.
But! What it says first is that you can't spell and what it says second is, what point? I wish they just would have asked intelligent people. There's a reasonably large university in town with a very nice archaeology program. It makes me feel stupid just living near a place called Otarre Pointe which is supposed to host a major regional tourist attraction. They could not easily have done worse (well, there's Redskin Park) and they could have so easily done better. Heck, Twelve Millennia sounds classy, and can be abbreviated 2K. How hard is that?
Now I know that the gratuitous silent E has had a grand tradition of making real estate developers and agents look stupid, ignorant, or both for many decades now. And I suppose I could live with it if there were an actual geographical feature called Otarre Point. Or, you know, particularly many French people around here.
The tipoff on the name, however, came from a street sign in the development for a street to be built called Clovis Pointe. And indeed, it turns out that there is a Native American arrowhead or spear point called the Otarre (or Otarrie) point, which is indeed found in the Southeast. Now you're getting into new horizons of stupid. I guess they wanted to add the E to differentiate between the archaeological artifacts and the street/development names. I guess you could make the argument that calling it Otarre Pointe makes people ask what that is, and helps publicize the future park, which is after all supposed to be about archaeology and Native history.
But! What it says first is that you can't spell and what it says second is, what point? I wish they just would have asked intelligent people. There's a reasonably large university in town with a very nice archaeology program. It makes me feel stupid just living near a place called Otarre Pointe which is supposed to host a major regional tourist attraction. They could not easily have done worse (well, there's Redskin Park) and they could have so easily done better. Heck, Twelve Millennia sounds classy, and can be abbreviated 2K. How hard is that?
Friday, April 4, 2014
Obamacare adventures
To cut to the chase, I wound up not signing up. My premium would have been equivalent to my rent and I still would have had a vast deductible to meet. So it would have been crazy. But trying to sign up was a whole lot of fun!
I went on the site the day before the deadline and estimated my costs. It looked pretty good. Or anyway, it looked like I could avoid any fines or fees at no cost to me. The deductibles there too were very high, but at least it wouldn't cost anything. Still, I had some questions I wanted to ask of a real human being so I held off trying to sign up for a day.
On Monday, March 31, or Deadline Day, there was a program at the public library to help people get signed up. I arrived at the start and they weren't yet ready to do the actual signups yet but could answer questions. Since that's all I wanted, I asked mine and got good answers, indicating that indeed the best move for me would be to go with the zero cost/ giant deductible option and thus avoid possible fines.
I admit it; I dawdled. I really thought everybody who wanted to sign up had already done so. I was wrong. I tried about 9 pm to get on the website. Eventually I did and was able to start the process, but had to wait for a verification email. This wound up taking an hour. When I tried logging on using the link in the email, the site said that my account was blocked, and suggested that I call the 1-800 number. I did so and a computer voice asked me to leave my number, which I did, and the computer told me that because I had tried to complete the process before the deadline that I would be considered to have beaten it and that I would get a call back within a week. I was relieved, partly to have beaten the deadline but mostly because I wanted to go to a show that I was already late for. I went!
A couple of days later, a robot phoned me and said that I was still on the waiting list and that I would receive a call. Yesterday, another robot called to say that if I still needed insurance I should call the 1-800 number again. Was she a rogue robot? I don't know.
Anyway, I called today and went through the whole process. For reasons that the Internet doesn't need to know, I don't qualify for any assistance, so as I say, high deductibles AND high premiums. This might have something to do with the fact that I'm older than God; I don't know. Anyway, my rep was very fun to talk to, the entire experience was a lot of fun, if they decide to fine me, it'll be under $100 (this year), which I can live with. I can still change my mind up through 4/15, too. The only bad part was that Obamacare's hold music was the goopiest! Also loud. Maybe those were the death panels everybody warned me about.
I went on the site the day before the deadline and estimated my costs. It looked pretty good. Or anyway, it looked like I could avoid any fines or fees at no cost to me. The deductibles there too were very high, but at least it wouldn't cost anything. Still, I had some questions I wanted to ask of a real human being so I held off trying to sign up for a day.
On Monday, March 31, or Deadline Day, there was a program at the public library to help people get signed up. I arrived at the start and they weren't yet ready to do the actual signups yet but could answer questions. Since that's all I wanted, I asked mine and got good answers, indicating that indeed the best move for me would be to go with the zero cost/ giant deductible option and thus avoid possible fines.
I admit it; I dawdled. I really thought everybody who wanted to sign up had already done so. I was wrong. I tried about 9 pm to get on the website. Eventually I did and was able to start the process, but had to wait for a verification email. This wound up taking an hour. When I tried logging on using the link in the email, the site said that my account was blocked, and suggested that I call the 1-800 number. I did so and a computer voice asked me to leave my number, which I did, and the computer told me that because I had tried to complete the process before the deadline that I would be considered to have beaten it and that I would get a call back within a week. I was relieved, partly to have beaten the deadline but mostly because I wanted to go to a show that I was already late for. I went!
A couple of days later, a robot phoned me and said that I was still on the waiting list and that I would receive a call. Yesterday, another robot called to say that if I still needed insurance I should call the 1-800 number again. Was she a rogue robot? I don't know.
Anyway, I called today and went through the whole process. For reasons that the Internet doesn't need to know, I don't qualify for any assistance, so as I say, high deductibles AND high premiums. This might have something to do with the fact that I'm older than God; I don't know. Anyway, my rep was very fun to talk to, the entire experience was a lot of fun, if they decide to fine me, it'll be under $100 (this year), which I can live with. I can still change my mind up through 4/15, too. The only bad part was that Obamacare's hold music was the goopiest! Also loud. Maybe those were the death panels everybody warned me about.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
Survey crew
The puzzlement for today: There was a survey crew working on Bluff Road this morning. The puzzling aspect was that they were all in police uniform and there was a police car nearby. This leads to two possibilities. First, the police may have needed some surveying done and just sent out a couple of officers, saying, "You figure it out." More likely, though, is that the city decided to make their surveyers part of the police department. My best guess is that the thinking would be that drivers would be more attentive if the surveyers were in uniform, especially if the survey work required them to direct traffic.
I guess I'll find out if I start seeing surveyers in police uniform every time. Neighboring Cayce doesn't seem to feel this way, because I saw survey work there, too. (Big day for survey work, apparently.) And no police cars nor police uniforms were in sight. Perhaps it's a trend.
Of course I'm still guessing and I may be guessing wrong. But if the city is putting its surveyers in police uniform, there are slightly creepy overtones. If it makes the surveyers safer and more effective, it's a good idea, but where then does it stop? Street sweepers in police uniforms, garbage collectors in police uniforms, water meter readers in police uniforms? I am of course over-reacting for effect, especially to a single observation, but there is a sort of militaristic mindset that may be at work here that I'd rather not see. (That said, I DO wish the surveyers the best, and the greatest safety.) And of course, what I saw may have been police cadets receiving special training. It's just that I don't see a lot of overlap between the skills of police officers and survey workers. I could be totally wrong of course.
I guess I'll find out if I start seeing surveyers in police uniform every time. Neighboring Cayce doesn't seem to feel this way, because I saw survey work there, too. (Big day for survey work, apparently.) And no police cars nor police uniforms were in sight. Perhaps it's a trend.
Of course I'm still guessing and I may be guessing wrong. But if the city is putting its surveyers in police uniform, there are slightly creepy overtones. If it makes the surveyers safer and more effective, it's a good idea, but where then does it stop? Street sweepers in police uniforms, garbage collectors in police uniforms, water meter readers in police uniforms? I am of course over-reacting for effect, especially to a single observation, but there is a sort of militaristic mindset that may be at work here that I'd rather not see. (That said, I DO wish the surveyers the best, and the greatest safety.) And of course, what I saw may have been police cadets receiving special training. It's just that I don't see a lot of overlap between the skills of police officers and survey workers. I could be totally wrong of course.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Don't see (& nearly get killed by) THAT every day
Yesterday, I'm driving my dad home from dialysis. There's a pickup truck ahead of me and to the left pulling a low trailer. On the trailer, we learned, was a long sheet of aluminum, maybe 20 feet long and five or six wide. The operative word here is "was." Because very slowly, it stood straight up and then fell straight down between the lanes. It happened so slowly that it was very easy to avoid, and it was much more of a "Well look at that!" than a "Oh my God!" type phenomenon.
At the red light, I wound up right next to the pickup. The passenger side window was up and that was the side I was on but the driver's window was down so I said, somewhat loudly but I hope politely, "Y'all do know that you just lost a big sheet of aluminum in the road, right?" The driver said a bad word starting with S, so I guess she heard me. Then she tried to run the red light but was stymied by cross traffic for a moment. Then she ran it anyway.
They were last seen turning left at the next light, possibly with the idea of eventually turning around and going back (which isn't too easy in a pickup with a trailer) or possibly just going wherever they were going. I have no way to know.
Two points: I was never scared an instant. Once not too long ago, I would have had to pull off the road and sob for a few minutes. OK, possibly an exaggeration, but I think I would have been fairly alarmed. Those days apparently are past.
Second: Even in my head, as it was happening, I found myself describing it as seeming to be in slow motion. This is silly. I don't know how we've all gotten indoctrinated through TV, movies, and mainly sports to think in those terms. I mean, it wasn't like slow motion; it just happened slowly. That does happen from time to time. It's actually kind of weird that it happens seldom enough that the brain wants to toss out "like slow motion." I guess most slow things that happen aren't worth mentioning. I guess?
At the red light, I wound up right next to the pickup. The passenger side window was up and that was the side I was on but the driver's window was down so I said, somewhat loudly but I hope politely, "Y'all do know that you just lost a big sheet of aluminum in the road, right?" The driver said a bad word starting with S, so I guess she heard me. Then she tried to run the red light but was stymied by cross traffic for a moment. Then she ran it anyway.
They were last seen turning left at the next light, possibly with the idea of eventually turning around and going back (which isn't too easy in a pickup with a trailer) or possibly just going wherever they were going. I have no way to know.
Two points: I was never scared an instant. Once not too long ago, I would have had to pull off the road and sob for a few minutes. OK, possibly an exaggeration, but I think I would have been fairly alarmed. Those days apparently are past.
Second: Even in my head, as it was happening, I found myself describing it as seeming to be in slow motion. This is silly. I don't know how we've all gotten indoctrinated through TV, movies, and mainly sports to think in those terms. I mean, it wasn't like slow motion; it just happened slowly. That does happen from time to time. It's actually kind of weird that it happens seldom enough that the brain wants to toss out "like slow motion." I guess most slow things that happen aren't worth mentioning. I guess?
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
What I'm scared of
Last night's dreams were tooling along, quite pleasant I guess. I remember stopping at a cheap motel and saying that I knew it was a good place because I had tried it out in a dream first. I seemed to be stopping at a lot of motels, for no particular reason. I also note that in my dreams lately, my dad is a lot more lively, cheerful and outgoing than in real life. I don't just mean compared to now, but ever. I guess I have a strong need to think of him as happy.
Anyway, I'm in a very large room with assorted people in it. I know somehow that my cat is with me. Some of the other people are playing with a cat the size of one's finger. Not a kitten, but a full-grown cat a couple of inches long. And my cat comes to me, crying for help, unable to use her back legs. I was electrified, and woke up immediately.
In real life, she was curled up next to me and my hand was on her side. This is fairly unusual; she certainly curls up next to me often enough, but usually gets an urgent message from Cat Central to go look out the window or something and is off like a shot. For her still to be there at 2 in the morning is very odd.
As with most nightmares, it was another case of me having to pee. It's nice to see that my brain still knows what scares me. It would be even nicer, though, if it would just ring a bell and step out and say, "Hey stupid! Get up! You have to pee!"
The other night, I had a much better dream, the ultimate escapist dream. Literally. I was escaping. I have many dreams where I'm in another city, but in this one I was me, it was my real current situation, and I was getting to hell out of Dodge with everybody's blessing. I would never leave everybody high and dry like that in real life, but I was so happy! Guess I need to figure out a way to get more vacation-type activity into my life.
And now, for reading my crazy dreams, here's a reward, courtesy of my friend Terry. Sweet Georgia Brown, performed with a tractor providing the percussion. Hysterical! http://www.wimp.com/ollehemmingsons/
Anyway, I'm in a very large room with assorted people in it. I know somehow that my cat is with me. Some of the other people are playing with a cat the size of one's finger. Not a kitten, but a full-grown cat a couple of inches long. And my cat comes to me, crying for help, unable to use her back legs. I was electrified, and woke up immediately.
In real life, she was curled up next to me and my hand was on her side. This is fairly unusual; she certainly curls up next to me often enough, but usually gets an urgent message from Cat Central to go look out the window or something and is off like a shot. For her still to be there at 2 in the morning is very odd.
As with most nightmares, it was another case of me having to pee. It's nice to see that my brain still knows what scares me. It would be even nicer, though, if it would just ring a bell and step out and say, "Hey stupid! Get up! You have to pee!"
The other night, I had a much better dream, the ultimate escapist dream. Literally. I was escaping. I have many dreams where I'm in another city, but in this one I was me, it was my real current situation, and I was getting to hell out of Dodge with everybody's blessing. I would never leave everybody high and dry like that in real life, but I was so happy! Guess I need to figure out a way to get more vacation-type activity into my life.
And now, for reading my crazy dreams, here's a reward, courtesy of my friend Terry. Sweet Georgia Brown, performed with a tractor providing the percussion. Hysterical! http://www.wimp.com/ollehemmingsons/
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